High Centered


Mike the Bike... Ezrianna's "first" ride!
High Centered
Back in the early years... before dance, before Phoenix… we rode. We rode horses, wake boards, snow boards, and motorcycles. I started on a Honda 50 with the ugliest orange seat and balloon tires. Then we got Mike the Bike (a Honda 70 that earned its name and will forever be the family favorite) for Christmas "from Santa" when my sister was ready to ride. For my 13th birthday, I got my Honda 100 -- the WORST bike of our batch, but also the bike associated with one of the best riding stories I have. I got my Honda CRF 150R for my 15th birthday, and even though it is a pain for cross country riding, I love it and still ride it to this day. Anyway...

The stories I could tell you of my family and the riding misfortunes and adventures. I could do an entire blog on riding stories! For now, however, I'll stick to one. 

Riding was one of my outlets; one of the ways I'd keep my Aspie in check. I'd ride. Push my bike across the highway into BLM land and go.

Oh how I loved my gear...
THE STORY:
The ride that ended with a nickname: she-who-flies-and-lands-in-sagebrush.

Daddy and I went riding across the highway on the BLM. We decided to go out a direction that differed from the norm. I vaguely remember climbing a hill up onto a plateau.

I was in hot pursuit, chasing my dad as he raced along on his Yamaha 450. A common occurrence. My dad is a speed demon and quite the rider.  My poor little Honda 100 could hardly keep up! I was just feet behind him when suddenly... dead stop, and I'm flying. Literally in the air flailing, full superman mode, bike behind me. Somehow, I landed on a huge Sagebrush. It was thick enough and I was light enough that I was just perched on top (here’s where the nickname was born).  When I managed to wrestle myself free from the sagebrush, I looked back. My bike was a good ten to fifteen feet behind me!

Now... You are probably picturing a dirtbike on its side. Am I right? Well... No. Not in this case. To my shock, the bike was standing perfectly erect in the middle of the trail as if it was still being ridden. When I investigated, a "trip wire" that had been placed approximately a foot up was caught between the engine and the brush guard. I couldn't get it unstuck. Dad was nowhere to be seen. Angrily (and stupidly), I threw my helmet on the ground, marched to the shade of the sagebrush that had saved me and sat crisscross applesauce. Soon Daddy returned looking for me. He said he was confused to see the bike standing erect without me in sight!  We got the bike loose and rode home.

Daddy still tells the story to this day. It was comical. I walked away with a few minor abrasions from the bush. That's it! She-who-flys-and-lands-in-sagebrush. That poor bike has never been the same. It still runs though!

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